


Fourteenth Time's the Charm

by perfectpro



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Scott only had to propose once.” He can’t help it if he sounds indignant, but it’s true. He knows that he’s resorting to petty blows, because by now he’s desperate. This is his third time asking her, and she’s not been giving him much hope in the way of him wearing her down.</p><p>Lydia doesn’t even pretend to look phased. “Maybe Scott got it right the first time."</p><p>----</p><p>Can be considered as a companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4206729">the way you like it</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fourteenth Time's the Charm

Stiles spends five weeks planning it, the first time. They’re going to go to Lydia’s favorite restaurant, some French place where he can’t pronounce anything on the menu. He’s hired the string quartet that plays near the outside tables to go into Pachelbel’s Cannon, Lydia’s favorite piece of classical music. That will take place while dessert is being brought out to them, which should create the mood for Lydia to see that he is perfect for her and she’d be an idiot to say no.

Even though Lydia almost always orders the crème brûlée, he’s not taking any chances. He’s already spoken to the manager and arranged for the ring to be placed alongside whatever dessert she gets. And she’ll look at him suspiciously before picking the ring up and staring him down all the while. Chances are, she might even wait for him to get down on one knee and ask the question before she answers. He knows that, and he’s okay with it. To be honest, he’s even excited for it.

It takes five weeks to plan because that’s how long he has to make the reservation in advance. He picks a Friday night at eight, a time late enough in the evening that he won’t have to worry about any of Lydia’s tests running late in the lab and the date falls only a few nights after their three year anniversary so she won’t suspect anything when he tells her the plan. She loves Violett’s, so he’s sure that she’ll be home early instead of late. Still, he makes sure to remind Lydia before she leaves in the morning, pleading with her to try to make it back by six. He knows that she likes to have time to get ready.

So when Lydia comes through the door at a quarter until eight, hair tied up in a haphazard bun and blouse already untucked from her skirt, Stiles knows that nothing is going to go as planned. She looks upset, pressing a hand to her face when she sees that he’s wearing dress pants and a button up instead of his usual flannel and jeans. “We’re going to Violett’s tonight,” she says, clearly having forgotten at some point during the day. “I am so sorry, it must have slipped my mind.”

Scrambling to grab her phone before putting down her bag, she winces when she sees the notification screen. “You called me twice, and texted me four times. I am the worst girlfriend ever.”

Stiles tries to stop himself, but he can’t help it. He laughs at that, because while Lydia is many, many things, she is not and has never been the worst girlfriend ever. “Babe, no, you’re perfect,” he corrects her, walking over from the kitchen to kiss her.

“I forgot that my gorgeous boyfriend made reservations at my favorite restaurant for our three year anniversary. I’m the worst,” she says, reaching back to pull out her hair tie and let her fiery locks flow freely down her back.

He takes a moment to really look at her, and he hates what he sees. She hasn’t been sleeping well for weeks, he knows, and it shows with the bags under her eyes. Her posture is a far cry from her typical erect stature, leaning against the door with exhaustion. “Let’s just stay in tonight,” he tells her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

“You made the reservation a month in advance,” she protests. “We were going to have an actual anniversary dinner because we were busy on Wednesday.” Nevertheless, she nods and rests more of her weight on the door.

He smiles and brings her hand up to his lips. “Let’s order pizza and play Mario Kart.”

Lydia’s grin spreads to her eyes and she sighs happily. “I love you,” she says, taking back her hand to remove her jacket. Truthfully, the last thing that she wants to do now is go out. Even if it would be to her favorite restaurant, the task of getting ready seems far too cumbersome to consider taking on. Especially since she’d have less time than preferred.

It’s been a terrible day at lab. Half of the tests she was in the middle of running had to be reset. Apparently one of the newer lab technicians used a cleaner that would have interfered with the results. Another day down the drain, but she hopes things will be back to the way she needs them to be on Monday. 

“Happy belated anniversary,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Deepening the kiss, she raised a hand to his neck and moved even closer to him. With a happy sigh, she steps out of her heels and raises to meet him once again, this time on her tiptoes. They linger like that for a little bit longer, until she pulls away and raises the corners of her lips in a smile. “Happy belated anniversary.”

“Three years and it already feels like a lifetime,” he jokes.

She smiles a little wider and laughs. “Might as well be eternity.”

The question weighs itself on his tongue, but Stiles pushes it off. Just because she’s kind of brought it up doesn’t mean he should try for it. He doesn’t even have the ring right now, proposing now would be a disaster. He at least needs the ring, which is making itself at home in the restaurant that they’re not going to be visiting tonight. Still, he’s already started to talk, so he needs to cut himself off before it’s a train wreck. “Will you… Will you want half Hawaiian, half meat-lover’s?” he asks, diving in for a quick kiss before fetching his phone.

“Sounds perfect,” she answers, walking into the kitchen and fetches a wine glass for herself and a bottle of beer for Stiles. 

Thirty minutes later, as Lydia’s Princess Daisy crossed the finish line, she puts her feet in Stiles’s lap and sets the controller aside. “Would you visit me in prison if I killed a lab tech?” she asks absentmindedly, reaching for a slice of the Hawaiian.

“What else are conjugal visits for?” he says, not taking his eyes off the screen as he moves over and takes a bite out of the pizza as Lydia brings it over to her. “Sorry,” he mumbles, mouth still full. He’s not really sorry, but the fact that he can feel her half-hearted glare makes him say it anyway.

She hums in agreement and glances over as he looks through the options for racing courses. “If you pick Rainbow Road, there won’t be any conjugal visits,” she threatens, handing the crust of the pizza off to him before collecting her controller again.

He picks a bland raceway instead, and when Lydia wins three laps later he doesn’t even pretend to be a good loser. “You let me pass you so that I would die from my own blue shell. I fell in love with the most evil woman ever,” he complains, pulling on her ankles and dragging her until she’s in his lap.

“I am verifiably evil,” she agrees, meeting him for a kiss. “Thank you suggesting we stay in.”

Pulling back to look at her, Stiles nods. “You know it. You just looked like you could use a stress-free night.”

“Supremely shit day,” Lydia says, leaning against him for a brief moment. “You helped, though.” She stands and grabs her wine glass, taking it back into the kitchen for a refill. “Another beer?” she calls back, opening the fridge.

Stiles feels the weight of the words on his tongue again, and he shoves them aside in time to say, “Yeah, sure.” He planned for five weeks for this, he can wait another few weeks to get things straightened out again. Lydia deserves the perfect proposal, and he’s going to give it to her. Even if it means swallowing down the question every time he’s overcome with the fact that he loves her.

“I grabbed a Sam Adams,” she tells him, standing at the edge of the couch and handing his beer over. 

He reaches out for it and grabs it over her hand. Fuck it, he’s waited three years. “Will you marry me?” he breathes out, watching her expression carefully.

She drops the wine glass onto the carpet, where it empties its contents but miraculously doesn’t shatter. “You can’t just ask me that because I had a terrible day in lab,” she accuses, looking down and cursing at the red liquid beginning to stain. 

Somehow, he manages to hold onto the beer bottle when she rips her hand away and goes to collect a towel. “I wasn’t…”

“You don’t even have a ring,” she says, bringing back an old ripped towel that looks suspiciously like a piece of the old tablecloth that she never liked.

He knew that would come back to bite him in the ass. Her reasoning, as usual, is right on point, but this time she doesn’t know all of the variables. “I dropped it off at the restaurant. I was going to ask tonight, and they were going to bring it out with dessert,” he says, feeling almost helpless.

Placing the towel over the spill and attempting to absorb it, she looks up at him with a masked expression. Her mind flicks through details until she sighs with realization. “At the restaurant,” she says. Pressing the towel down harder, she gives him a sad smile that comes across more like a grimace.

“I just fucked up, didn’t I?” Stiles asks, setting the beer down as he goes into the kitchen to grab paper towels and stain remover spray.

“No, that’s the right kind,” she says to the stain remover. Accepting that, she trades him the now-soaking towel for the paper towels that he’s holding out to her.

“I didn’t mean the stain remover.” Taking the towel back through the kitchen into the washing room, he pokes his head out and asks, “Warm or hot water?”

“It’s a rag, it doesn’t matter. Warm, I guess,” she says, blotting the remaining wine gently from the carpet. “And you didn’t fuck up.” Ripping off a fresh paper towel, she corrects herself, “You didn’t fuck up. I just don’t want to get married right now. Not that I don’t want to marry you, because if I do ever decide to get married you are definitely my top pick. Unless Allison is up for grabs, because then you’re out of luck.”

Coming back into the living room, Stiles gets down on his knees to help her get the rest of the wine out. “Is that because she can cook and I can’t?”

Looking over at him with a smirk, she shakes her head. “It’s because she can bake and you can’t.” All joking aside, she reaches tentatively for his hand. “I do love you, I just don’t want to get married. Not right now, at least.”

“So you’re saying no, but you’re not breaking up with me.” At her nod, he smiles a little and leans in to kiss her over the mess. “I’m going to ask again.” He pauses and looks at her honestly. “If you don’t want me to ask again, just tell me.”

She smiles a bit, looking less pained this time, pushing a few paper towels out of the way before kissing him more comfortably. “I’m okay with you asking later so long as you’re still okay with me saying no.”

After throwing out all the paper towels and putting the stain remover away, Lydia stares down at the once again spotless carpet. “I can’t believe you were going to have them bring the ring out during dessert.” She almost sounds like she’s accusing him. “How cliché.”

Scoffing, Stiles wraps his arms around her and presses an obnoxious kiss to her cheek. “You love me,” he says, and it sounds like he’s almost making fun of her for it. “You love me,” he repeats, squeezing her and rocking them both back and forth.

“I don’t know why,” she says, turning to him and rolling her eyes.

-x-

In the middle of a Call of Duty marathon, Scott pauses the screen suddenly.

“Dude,” Stiles says in shock, looking at his best friend in confusion. “What was that for?”

Scott is staring back at him in wonder. “How did it go? You never called me after.” He snatches Stiles’s controller to prevent the other man from unpausing the game. “Come on, dude. You proposed,” he says, lowering his voice even after looking around to make sure they were the only ones in the room. 

“Oh, that, that. She said no,” Stiles responds, reaching over and grabbing a handful of Cheetos. “We’re still together, oh my God, don’t look like I just kicked a puppy,” he pleads, offering the freshly procured cheese puffs to his friend in solace. “She doesn’t want to get married right now, so we’re not worrying about it. I’m going to ask again, it’s okay, man. Really, we’re totally fine.”

Accepting one of the Cheetos, Scott frowns as he chews thoughtfully. “She said no, but you’re still going to ask again?”

“Do you not remember all of the times she shot him down in high school?” Allison asks from the doorway, rolling her eyes at them as she stirs the contents of the bowl she has balanced on her hip.

Scott’s expression, as it usually does when it sees Allison, transforms into the dopey puppy love look that Stiles has come to be begrudgingly fond of. 

“See? Your wife at least has faith in my methods.” 

“By methods, do you mean wearing Lydia down until she says yes just to shut you up?”

“The fifteen year plan got cut short because she realized we’re perfect together. Now I just have to do the same thing again, only with marriage instead of dating,” Stiles responds, winking at Scott while he does so. 

Reaching up to above the couch, Scott still looks unconvinced. And, yeah. Stiles understands that. From Scott’s point of view, it doesn’t make sense, because of course it doesn’t. He and Allison were practically ready to get married from the day that they met, and Allison said yes the first and only time that Scott asked.

Allison stops stirring to approach the back of the couch and place her hand in Scott’s raised one. The hopeless romantic that he is, Scott brings her hand forward and kisses it gently. Allison, because she’s a Disney princess and can do no wrong, uses her hips to pin the mixing bowl against the couch and sweeps her other hand in, only to swipe a line of batter across her husband’s cheek. Stiles watches as Scott tilts his head back to grin at her and wipes it off with his hand before licking it off with satisfaction.

“German forest cake? You’re the best,” Scott tells her, kissing her hand once more before releasing it.

“That’s what you’re supposed to tell me,” Stiles whines, looking up at Allison and scrunching his nose at her.

She gives him the mixing spoon as a peace offering before rolling her eyes at the pair and heading back into the kitchen, calling out on her way, “When are you asking again?”

“Whenever seems right? I don’t know, maybe I’ll plan another one and actually go through with it this time.” Stiles unpauses the game and launches back into action, button mashing as he goes.

“You didn’t go through with it?” Scott asks, narrowing his eyes as he groans. “Not fair, dude.”

“Lydia had a bad day, we stayed in and I asked her then. She said she’s not looking to get married now.”

“So not now, but when will she be?”

Stiles shrugs, grinning as he makes another kill. “Whenever she is, I’ll be there. I’m going to be the king of proposals, man. You’ll see. The way you asked Allison isn’t even going to hold a candle.”

“I liked the way he asked me,” Allison snaps from the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Scot says, glaring at his best friend all the while. “There was nothing wrong with the way that I proposed.”

As the game ends, Stiles smirks victoriously and pats Scott on the back. “You were on a picnic and gave her a bundle of flowers held together by the ring. I can do so much better than that.” He licks at the batter-covered spoon as he thinks it over. “Yeah, I’m thinking fireworks.”

Allison wanders back into the room, using a different spoon as she stirs absent-mindedly. “Lydia will think fireworks are tacky.” She takes the spoon Stiles is holding and puts it back in the kitchen before coming out again.

“She’s right,” Scott notes, grabbing the Cheetos. And, yeah, Lydia will think that’s tacky, but Scott’s only agreeing because Allison’s word is law. Not that Stiles can disagree, especially when she pretty much is. Still, the principle stands that Scott is agreeing because Allison said, not because is Allison is correct. Even though those happen to be the same thing right now.

Stiles shrugs and checks the time on his phone. “I’ll think of something,” he says, confident in himself. “Oh yeah, Allison, can you teach me how to bake?”

-x-

Two months later, Stiles prepares for the second proposal. He’s meeting Lydia after work, and they’re going to get coffee and then wander around the midtown area until they get tired enough to go home. It’s something they try to do every Wednesday when they can, so Lydia won’t be expecting it.  
  
When Lydia comes through the doors, shaking her hair out of the ponytail she’d used to pull it out from her eyes, he’s already seated and is waiting for the barista to call out the order.

“The first draft of my paper is done,” she tells him, walking over and kissing him on the cheek before sitting down across from him. “Did you alreadyorder?”

He can’t help himself, he catches her wrist and tugs her gently back to him before kissing her in congratulations. “That’s great, babe. I’m so proud of you.” When she flushes under the praise, he grins and goes in for one more kiss. “Yeah, I got the frappuccino for you. I figured it’s hot enough that you probably didn’t want an expresso.”

Her answering smile is so beautiful that he almost falls in love with her again. “You’re perfect. I’m starving, too, I had to work through lunch to make the final edits. Well, not the final edits, but the last edits for this version. It smells so good in here. Want to get us one of those pecan pastries to split?” She hardly waits for his nod before heading over to the counter, chatting with the barista for a few moments before handing over her credit card as she points through the glass at the sweet.

Stiles stands up when he sees two drinks appear on the other side of the counter, fishing in his pocket for the ring box he grabbed before leaving the house. Collecting his coffee and her frappuccino, he makes sure that Lydia is otherwise occupied before slipping the ring down the straw of her drink and making sure that it doesn’t dip down through the opening to rest on the whipped cream. Even though it would look pretty, he’s fairly sure that Lydia wouldn’t want to have the sticky sugar on her skin.

“I got the last one,” Lydia practically crows, waving two forks as he approaches the table.

“My diabolical love,” he says, setting down the drinks and reaching for the second fork. 

She grins and takes a portion of the pastry, making sure to get a section that has a whole pecan on it. “First this coffee shop, then the world. How was your day?”

So she isn’t going to notice the ring quite yet. That’s fine, she hasn’t even reached for her cup yet. “It was good. How much editing do you think you’ll have to do on the paper before it’s ready to be published?” He waves off her frown and says, “I had a boring, run of the mill day. You had an exceptional one, and I want to hear about it.”

Laughing, she reaches for her drink and says, “Alright, alright. Probably another month before the paper is ready, possibly several more before the publication actually is. We have to get in contact with a few publishers to see where it would fit best. I’ll be going over it on Monday with the rest of the department, and we’ll see from there.” She grins as she lifts the cup, facial expression freezing when she sees the ring glinting up at her.

He bites his lip and grins at her. “Marry me?”

She sticks a finger in the whipped cream, then reaches across the table and swipes it across his nose. “Another time,” she tells him. Gingerly, she lifts the ring from the straw and inspects it carefully. “It’s nice. I’ll be proud to wear it, but not right now. I don’t want to get married now.”

“Then give it back,” he says, not unkindly, wiping the whipped cream from his face with a napkin. “Come on, Lyds. You can’t turn me down and keep the ring.”

Grudgingly, she hands it back to him. “It is very pretty.”

“I had Allison come with to pick it out. She yelled at me when I tried to pick out a princess cut.”

“Remind me to thank her,” Lydia says, taking a drink before going back to the pastry. “I think the head of my department is looking to retire. He asked me how I felt about taking over sometime in the next two years.” She spins the fork as she lifts it to her mouth, looking like the cat that ate the canary. 

“How do you feel about taking over?”

She shrugs. “I’d be the youngest department head, male or female. I’m still fairly new to the lab, so I feel like some people who have been there longer would be upset.” Pausing, she takes another drink from her coffee and bites down a smile. “I might like it. What do you think?”

Stiles pockets the ring and reaches across the table to put a hand over hers. “I think you’re amazing.”

-x-

He ends up pulling a ton of favors with the newspaper. He starts with the crime reporter who actually does owe him a few, and ends up making some semi-shady dealings with the woman who writes the crosswords. Lydia does the crossword every Saturday and Sunday morning, working through the across hints before starting on the downs. He even makes sure that none of the hints are easy, because if there’s one thing that Lydia hates it’s when people go easy on her. A crossword puzzle proposal is probably not going to be the exception.

In the end, the crossword woman yells at him to get out of her office. She reminds him that she has twenty years of experience in this department, and she’s going to get the first two lines of the Sunday crossword to spell out his proposal without him breathing down her neck.

Stiles doesn’t appreciate her sass, but he does get out of her office. He’ll send her a fruit basket for her troubles.

“Five letter word for matrimony,” Stiles calls out on Sunday morning, the paper open in front of him as he reads the clues to Lydia, who is adding salt and pepper to the scrambled eggs. In hindsight, maybe he should have asked the woman to make the clues a bit harder. Lydia loves a good challenge.

“’Marry’, easy,” she comments, taking a spatula to the pan and scraping up the bits that try to cling to the bottom of the pan.

He continues through the clues until she’s done with the eggs and has freed up the stove for him to start working on the ham. They’re having his dad over tonight, and he’s going to attempt a ham for the event. He’d looked up the procedure late the night before, groaning when he realized how long it would take him. 

A few minutes into the preparation, Lydia is staring at him suspiciously over the top of the newspaper. “Stiles, do you want to explain to me why it reads ‘Lydia, marry me already’ in the crossword?” Even though she phrases it like it needs an answer, he knows that tone of voice and knows that she hasn’t asked him a question.

“Do you want to explain to me why I have to keep asking?” he teases her, taking the ring box out of his pocket and opening it on the counter. He leaves it there as an open invitation, that it’s hers to take if she wants it.

She frowns and rolls her eyes. “I don’t want to get married right now.”

“Scott only had to propose once.” He can’t help it if he sounds indignant, but it’s true. Scott spent a week planning a picnic, and then, boom, engaged to the love of his life. Stiles spent five weeks on his first proposal, and nothing. He knows he’s resorting to petty blows, because by now he’s desperate. This is his third time asking her, and she’s not been giving him much hope in the way of him wearing her down.

Lydia doesn’t even pretend to look phased. “Maybe Scott got it right the first time. Are you sure you know what you’re doing over there? That doesn’t look right.”

Stiles pulls him arm from out of the section he’s cut into the ham and tries to glare. “I can do this, please. Oh, yeah, I asked Allison to teach me how to bake. I figured that in case it ever did come down to a competition, I’d like to know that I’m already in the lead.”

Scoffing, she pulls the business section towards her and rolls her eyes. “Get her to teach you to cook first. You don’t stuff a ham. I’m not saying that you don’t know what you’re doing. Just that you don’t stuff a ham.” She pointedly unfolds the paper and begins to scan the headlines for something interesting.

Almost ashamed, Stiles reaches back in to pull the stuffing from the cut out section. “I knew that. I totally knew that,” he says, putting the bag on an unused portion of the counter.

-x-

Pack trivia nights have become a regular event. Every Thursday evening, they all crowd into Derek’s living room and let their competitive streaks loose over a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit. Or, it started with Trivial Pursuit and devolved into some morphed version that sprung from Danny’s and Lydia’s minds. Stiles maintains that the main purpose of the game is to make him hate himself, because he has never been able to win. He doesn’t even know how to win, because every time that he has more points there always ends up being a bonus round based around subjects he knows nothing about.

Subjects like My Little Pony, in which Isaac swept the board without once needing to go into overtime. Which made Stiles suspicious, but the werewolf had refused to answer any and all questions about the source of his knowledge, claiming that he had as much of a right to privacy as the rest of them did. That’s another thing. Overtime. Stiles doesn’t believe that board games should cross lines with sports rules, but every time that he suggests that, Allison always ends up correcting him and explaining that they’ve always played this way, haven’t we, guys? And the pack will all nod solemnly, even Derek, that traitor.

My Little Pony hasn’t even been the worst. Somehow Danny got a coding subject heading, and, look, Stiles understands in theory that this game isn’t anything like anything else, but that is a conflict of interest. He didn’t know how Lydia let Danny get that in there until Lydia one day pulled up the subject of ‘Prada Spring 2015 Collection’ and Stiles had resorted to actually throwing the cards across the table. The game just isn’t fair, and it’s been designed to screw him over.

Stiles resorts to underhanded techniques to making the pack agree with him instead of crumbling beneath Lydia’s iron will. He knows how scary she can be, but werewolves are helpless when faced with donuts. So he spends a few hours with the manager of the nearest Krispy Kreme, finagling a discount based on previous loyalty. Maybe he should stop complaining that the rest of the cops on the force always send him out for donuts. Anyway, he at least gets to add it to the precinct tab.

So that helps him out some. Cora and Malia stop siding with Lydia, at least. Which is appreciates. He even starts making sure there are enough jelly filled ones for them.

They typically split into teams within the first few minutes. Supernatural versus humans turned out to be unfair when Allison was able to answer everything in each category. Other teams have consisted of oldest to youngest pairings, which always ends in arguments about what constitutes pop culture and when the generation gap occurs. They tried splitting into couples once, but Lydia and Allison resorted to physical violence against each other while Stiles and Scott watched, dumbfounded as their respective girlfriend and wife came to blows.

This time, Derek says, “Boys versus girls.” Everyone glances around, sizing up possible opponents and trying to determine how unfair the match-up is.

“They have Allison and Lydia,” Stiles finally protests, pointing to where the two girls have joined hands and are bouncing on the balls of their feet together. Because really, Allison and Lydia could practically win by themselves.

Some grumbling ensues, mostly Danny and Isaac in agreement with him while Malia shrugs and smirks, with Kira finally suggesting that only one of them can participate per round. Allison and Lydia grudgingly accept, the redhead doing so by sticking out her tongue across the room at her boyfriend. The boys are appeased by this compromise, and Derek volunteers to read the cards to even out numbers.

The girls team consists of Kira, Cora, Malia, and Allison or Lydia. The boys is made of Isaac, Scott, Danny, and Stiles. Settling around separate end tables, Malia and Scott call the rest of their groups over to confer on strategy before beginning.

The game seems to change from week to week, and Stiles can never pinpoint exactly how. Somehow, though it does. The week after he got a haircut, Lydia calmly explained to him that he could not receive the maximum amount of points because his hair was too short. Danny had nodded gravely from behind her, lifting up the rule book that Stiles has never been allowed to look through.

The first few sets of questions go fine, and the girls are ahead by twenty points and awaiting their bonus question while Derek glances through the cards. Finally, he says, “What planet from the Star Wars universe is home to Princess Leia?”

Stiles gasps and makes eye contact with Lydia, who is participating in the round. She smirks cruelly at him as she thinks it over, remembering the countless times she’s sat through the movies with Stiles.

Fifteen of their thirty seconds go by as the girls struggle for the answer, and when Lydia gasps in realization Stiles knows that he has to do something to stop their team from pulling ahead even further. “Lydia, will you marry me?” He even goes so far as to take the ring out and get down on one knee.

Kira gasps with delight, Allison smiles as she looks over at her best friend, Cora looks surprised and almost annoyed, and Malia looks vaguely interested.  
  
At his own table, Scott can’t help the grin that’s spreading on his face, Danny looks hopeful, and Isaac is almost smirking. Towards the center of the room, Derek has arched an eyebrow and is looking over at Lydia expectantly. Lydia barely spares him a glance before shouting, “Alderaan!”  
  
When everyone freezes, she looks over at Stiles and frowns. “I know you didn’t just propose to me to try to win a stupid pack game.” She honestly can’t believe her taste in men sometimes. “Again, as always, not right now.” She sighs and looks over at Derek. “Well, is it Alderaan or isn’t it?”

Bewildered, Derek looks down at the card in hand before nodding and awarding the girls the points. The tension in the room slowly goes back down to normal, with everyone looking around in confusion. Allison is the first to settle back to normal, followed quickly by Scott and Malia. Everyone else takes a few minutes to follow.

Stiles blows Lydia an obnoxious kiss, and while Lydia tries to look annoyed at him, he still catches the smile that she tries to suppress.

-x-

Laying in bed, Stiles traces random patterns on Lydia’s shoulder as he attempts to fall asleep. He’ll be out soon, because nothing gives him the ability to sleep like a baby like sex does.

Lydia usually shares that ability, but she’s still tense, so he figures she’s going to have another restless night. Probably stress from lab, he reasons, knowing that her paper has to go through one final draft before the journal agrees to put it into the next issue. He would bother her about it and try to get her to talk, but talking never seems to actually help her. Most of the time she says it makes it worse because she can’t pretend to push it out of her mind any longer.

“I’m going to make crepes tomorrow,” he informs her, his other hand playing with a few strands of her hair.

She grins and rolls a little so that he can see it. “Baking lessons with Allison are going well, I see. Sounds wonderful. We can use up the rest of the strawberries for that.” Tilting her head back to rest on his chest, she hums absent-mindedly and loses herself to the feeling of his fingertips running gently across her skin.

“One day I’ll be a good enough cook that you’ll actually want to marry me,” he mumbles, kissing her neck lazily.

With some trepidation, she opens her eyes and looks at him with a steady gaze. That’s really what’s been bothering her, not work. “You know when I turn you down it’s not because of you, right?” Really, she can’t have Stiles thinking that she doesn’t want to marry him. If she wanted to marry anyone, it would be him. She’s just not sure that she wants to get married at all.

He flops back onto the pillows, pulling her with him. “I know you love me, if that’s what you mean.” He’s doesn’t know why she’s so unsure about getting married in the first place, but then he remembers the few and far between stories that she’s told him of her own parents and the messy divorce that followed. So, yeah, maybe he understands that, but that’s never been them. That’s never going to be them.

“Of course I love you. I just… It’s marriage, not you,” she says, flipping over to press her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Snaking her arms around him, she tries to bring him a little closer. “Pull the blanket up, I’m cold.”

“How about I warm you up?” he asks, wearing a cheesy grin as he reaches up to cup one of her breasts.

Sleepily, she runs a hand along his jaw and kisses him slowly, almost languidly. It’s the type of kiss that Stiles absolutely loves, the kind of kiss they can share for ages without it turning into a need for more, the kind that isn’t demanding. It’s just enough by itself, it doesn’t need anything else, and he kisses her back with an equal pressure.

A few minutes, Lydia rolls off of him and pillows herself on his shoulder. “One day we’re not going to come up for air, and our friends are going to find that we died from making out.”

“I was always hoping I’d go while eating you out. Not that kissing you isn’t just as good, but you don’t make those breathy moans.”

She reaches down to put a hand on his hip and closes her eyes. “You’re rather good at it,” she concedes.

Leaning over to bite playfully at her nose, he grins from above her.

Yawning, she pulls herself closer to him, mumbling all the while, “I was serious about you bringing that blanket. I can call the heating maintenance people tomorrow and see if they have time to come up.”

“Why can’t you bring it up?” he asks, still lifting the blanket up and putting it and over her face. “Better?”

She wriggles until the blanket has ridden down to where it’s only covering up to her shoulders, and then she kisses his jaw affectionately. “Much.”  
  
Stiles closes his eyes and tries to sleep, but he keeps coming back to Lydia’s parents. He likes her mom pretty well, at least from the times he’s met her across dinner tables and at awkward cocktail parties that Lydia drags him to. She’s nice, if formal and seemingly stressed. She always seems genuinely worried about Lydia, which is enough for him to like anyone. Mr. Martin is another story entirely, and if Stiles isn’t overly fond of him he doesn’t even want to think about how Lydia feels about her father.

“Marriage isn’t going to ruin our relationship unless we let it,” he tells her, staring up at the ceiling in hope that she’s awake and actually heard him.  
  
Shifting slightly, she says, “I know that.” After a pause, she even goes so far as to say, “We won’t let it.”

He grins and reaches over to the nightstand briefly before bringing the ring box between them. “Want to get married?” he asks, unable to help the grin that spreads over his face. Even if she can’t see him, she surely knows what he’s holding out to her if the way that she takes her hands out from around him is any indication.

For a brief moment, he thinks that she’s going to take the ring box and accept and his heart stops in his chest for a beat or two. Then, she removes the box from his hand before bodily shoving him off of the bed. “You’re such an idiot,” she mumbles, stretching out into the space she’d created. When she doesn’t hear him move, she rolls to that side and peers over the mattress cautiously, screaming when he reaches up and drags her down onto the floor with him.

“I’m lucky that you love me,” he reminds her, kissing her lips gently before turning into a tickle fight that leaves Lydia indignantly shouting and ends up with her elbowing him in the eye.

Coming back into the room with an ice pack, she turns on the light and rolls her eyes at how pathetic he’s attempting to look. “Next time you won’t tickle me,” she taunts him, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed and raising the ice pack to his eye gingerly.

“Next time I won’t tickle you,” he says, grinning all the while.

-x-

It’s only when Stiles walks in on a betting session in Derek’s loft that he realizes how invested the rest of the pack is in his and Lydia’s relationship.

Danny is standing by two whiteboards that have been done up in grid formation. One of the boards is filled with dates and possible proposal ideas, and the second is filled with names and cash amounts.

“What the hell is this?” he asks before he can help himself, walking over to see ‘horseback ride into sunset’ scrawled in Scott’s unmistakable block handwriting. Next to that is ‘near death experience’ done in what he’s pretty sure is Kira’s cursive.

It’s pretty obvious, but Isaac launches into an explanation anyway. “We’re taking bets on when Lydia’s going to say yes to you, and on what the proposal itself will be. Right now, Lydia’s next work party is popular, but I think Malia’s probably got a dark horse candidate on her hands.”

Stiles scans the board until he reaches what he’s pretty sure is Malia’s favored outcome. “You think that Lydia will propose to me?” he asks, only a little slack jawed at thinking about the possibility.

“She’s going to lull you into a false sense of security by saying no to all of your proposals, and then she’s either going to propose to you or she’s going to just start wearing the ring.” Malia says all of this without turning around from the wall that she’s facing, which appears to be covered in post-it notes that predict the probability for each outcome. “Or she’s going to get so fed up with you proposing that she’ll kill you and make it look like a freak accident. Honestly, the latter’s looking like the real winner.”

“She wasn’t amused when you asked during trivia,” Scott points out, standing to pat his friend on the back before joining Malia by the opposing wall.

Derek is the only one who’s grinning at him, and the fact that Derek is grinning makes Stiles so uncomfortable that he wishes he hadn’t come over at all. “My money is on you doing increasingly dangerous proposals until Lydia says yes out of concern for your wellbeing.”

One part of Stiles thinks that his friends shouldn’t be so invested in the outcome of his proposals. The other part is debating whether that would work, because that sky diving company does have sales fairly frequently. Then again, if he is going to jump out of a plane, he’s pretty sure he wants to provide the company with as much monetary incentive as possible to keep well out of harm’s reach. Still, Lydia might be more likely to agree out of sympathy and pity if he asked from a hospital bed in between morphine injections.

“Don’t even think about it,” Allison says, because of course she knows he was beginning to consider it.

Stiles pushes the thought from his mind and approaches the second board, the one that has names and money attached to it. Wow, their pack is far too invested in this to be healthy. Or they all have a gambling problem. Which may not be too far-fetched of an idea, because, really, they’ve been known to bet more over less. That being said, there is apparently a lot of money hanging in the balance of when he and Lydia will declare pending nuptials.

Studying with him, Kira laughs when she sees Cora’s bet. “He’s not going to get a tattoo,” she says to her friend, then pauses. “Are you?”

“Stiles fainted when I got a tattoo, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to handle having one on himself,” Scott provides helpfully from beside Malia.

“That was years ago, I could totally get a tattoo if I wanted to. Not that I want to,” he adds for Kira’s benefit.

He wanders over to look at the probability board. It looks kind of like Lydia’s latest paper, equations seemingly created from thin air. He doesn’t understand where she pulls that stuff from, and he certainly doesn’t know when Scott became a probability king. “Is this your work?” he asks Malia, leaning in and squinting at a graph titled ‘how long Stiles waits versus how likely Lydia is to say yes’. Those odds cannot be right.

“I meet up with Lydia for lunch on Mondays,” she comments, reaching for a calculator on the end table.

Watching her punch several numbers in it and wait for the outcome before plotting another point on the graph, Stiles finally says, “You’ve been doing that for years. So?”

“So I asked her to teach me a little bit of what she does. I mean, these would be much more accurate if she was here, I’m sure, but I’m using a few formulas that I’ve modified for the occasion and I’ve been editing them to reflect her feelings about the subject each week. It’s not a sure thing, but next month looks good.”

Scott nods along with her and points to a variable that’s been smudged. “Shouldn’t we lower Stiles’s ‘perceptibility’ variable? He wasn’t even expecting us to do this.”

Malia purses her lips and finally nods, punching a few more numbers into the calculator before staring with some surprise at the result. “A little lower than I thought, but it’s probably right. You’ve been especially dumb recently.”

Stiles knows that he probably shouldn’t take it personally, but he doesn’t know how to do that. They all fall into silence for a few moments, until Stiles remembers why he came over in the first place. “Derek, do you have the water guns that we all pitched in for last summer?”

Scott, Allison, and the betas turn slowly to Derek. “Do you?” Scott asks, grin almost feral, and that’s when Stiles remembers why they had to ban the water guns that year.

Derek looks like he’s almost sweating, and he gets out, “No.” Then, his look of utter panic gives him away, and he sprints up the stairs with Isaac and Malia tailing closely behind. “Watch the claw marks on the hardwood,” he yells pitifully when he hears the scraping sounds that follow his path.

Over by the betting wall is Danny, who Stiles hadn’t noticed until now. He trades glances with the other man before pointing to a pink sticky note in the corner. “This one is my favorite. She’d kill you, though.”

Stiles follows the line of sight until he reads the note and mumbles along with it before gasping. “I would die,” he moans, looking at it again and trying to figure out which member of the pack is stupid enough to believe that he really has no survival instincts. In curly writing, the post it reads ‘during sex: refuse to finish until she says yes.’ It’s so unfunny that he can almost feel Lydia’s nails biting into his shoulders in anger.

“You would die slowly and in pain. And they’d never be able to trace it back to her,” Danny supplies.

-x-

Lydia gets home one night with a grin that stretches all the way across her face. “It came early,” she yells, turning to look into the living room and then into the kitchen for signs of her boyfriend. “Stiles, I’m home! My paper got published the issue before they said it would!” When there’s still no response, she leans down the hall to see if their bedroom door is open.

All other options having been exhausted, she finally resorts to the emergency summoning that she doesn’t use lightly. It’s one of the only things that lets Stiles know she means business. “I’m about to get real naked real quick, and you had better be here by the time I get my shirt over my head!”

The gasp that she hears from outside makes her realize that she didn’t close the door behind her, and now their next door neighbor that Stiles likes to discuss period dramas with probably thinks they’re just another sex-crazed young couple. Which, okay, they kind of are, but that’s their business. Lydia tries recovers quickly by saying, “I don’t want to waste any AC by wearing clothes. Electricity bills.” With that, she slams the door shut and turns around to find Stiles standing in front of her, looking oddly disappointed.

“I thought you were going to be naked,” he explains, glancing behind her at the recently shut door. “Did Mrs. Gunderson hear us?”

She nods, blushing lightly, loving the way that he leans back and laughs at her before walking up quickly and spinning her around. “My paper got published an issue early,” she says.

“I heard. I just happened to be in the backyard, watering the monkey grass, so it took me longer to get inside.”

“We have sprinklers.”

Pausing, he sighs and says, “I knew I was forgetting something.”

The laugh she gives in response is enough for him to spin her around once more and then duck his lips to meet hers briefly. Lydia can hardly stop smiling long enough to kiss him properly, and Stiles feels the same swell of emotion he felt weeks ago bubble up again in his chest. He’s never going to find anyone that even comes close to her, not the way that she laughs when he’s being ridiculous, not the way that she kisses him like she’s exploring something unknown, not the way that she sings in the shower like no one can hear her.

Separating their lips, Stiles kisses her once more. “I am so beyond proud of you. You’ve been working on this for years, babe. You did it.”

Her eyes are almost glassy, watering as she holds up the journal in between them. “I just can’t believe they put it in this issue. It’s practically unheard of for these people to be ahead of schedule. This means that when I go to that conference next month I’ll have a new work to talk about, one that’s recently coming out, not one just waiting for publication.”

“I knew they’d get it in,” he confides, picking up the magazine and flipping through the pages rapidly until he found what he was looking for. The page after the references that Lydia had so painstaking noted with care was a simple black and white advertisement that she apparently hadn’t noticed in her mission to get home.

Looking over it quickly, she looks up at him and gives a watery smile. “My beautiful, published girlfriend,’” she reads, “’how would you like to become my beautiful, published fiancé?’ The published part was a nice touch, by the way. I also appreciate that you didn’t name me, because it would have been hard to look professional with that. You know me so well.”

He takes back the paper and sets it on the counter. “Well?” he asks expectantly, hovering awkwardly, as though he isn’t sure whether or not she wants him to get down on one knee or not.

“Still not now. I love you,” she says, almost like an apology.

Holding her hand gently, he kisses her cheek and smiles. “I want you to know that I have so many different proposals planned out that I would almost be disappointed if you said yes so early on. So not now, which I can live with, so long as you love me. Which you clearly do, who wouldn’t? Still, I’m having fun with this, and when you do say yes it will be because you truly cannot wait to marry me. Right?”

She has the best boyfriend ever. He doesn’t even truly seem to mind that she isn’t even sure if she’d like to get married at all, just wants to keep surprising her and reminding her that he’s ready whenever she is. Swallowing, she stands on her tip toes and kisses his cheek in return. “Right.”

-x-

From there, Stiles decides to stop taking out advertisements and stop pleading with crossword creators. He does consider hiring another string quartet, if only because the last one fell through, but in the end he holds off. Lydia doesn’t seem to really want a flashy proposal. Or any proposal at all, really. Which is more disappointing than it should be, but he truly doesn’t mind. It means he has more time to find the perfect one.

He even goes by Derek’s more often the usual, to keep an eye on the betting boards to see if any of the sticky note messages give him ideas. After returning the water guns he’s initially borrowed for the a precinct event, he’s had to start making up excuses that got increasingly poorer until he had to go ahead and reveal that he wanted to make sure the pack wasn’t coming up with things that actually might work.

Most of the ideas on the board are Scott’s, but his ideas never cease to be too big to be possible. For instance, one post it in Scott’s handwriting requires a bathtub full of champagne and something Stiles had to Google, which turned out to be a sex toy that let him know entirely too much about his best friend’s sex life. That one isn’t even the most outlandish option, though, because at least that one doesn’t require an animal handler and fifteen white doves in addition to the seamstress who would sew them into a wedding dress. Which, that is animal cruelty and PETA would come after Stiles if they ever got word of it. Not to mention that Lydia would be horrified beyond belief and would probably break up with him on the spot if he actually went through with it.

Honestly, the only person who is genuinely upset by the fact that Lydia keeps turning Stiles down is Scott. Scott has taken to moping around his and Allison’s home, which is why Allison has taken hanging out with Lydia and Stiles in the hopes that he’ll join her and see how it hasn’t damaged his best friend’s relationship.

Stiles sees Allison at the door and calls Lydia over, grabbing his phone and kissing her quickly before he leaves. “I assume you left your better half back at your place?” he asks, swinging his keyring on his finger as he passes Allison on the walkway.

“He didn’t want to come over and see you guys fighting.” Allison looks like she can’t believe her husband won’t leave well enough alone, but Stiles kind of understands. He and Allison have always been on the same page about everything, so he can’t imagine that Lydia and Stiles wouldn’t be, especially about something as big of a deal as marriage.

Stiles rolls his eyes and waits for Lydia to get out the door before he trots back up the steps and smirks at her. “May I?” he asks, clearly waiting for an invitation.

It’s Lydia who doesn’t wait for him, just stands up on her tip-toes and closes the distance between their mouths before he can ask again. “Of course,” she murmurs, reaching up and putting a hand on the back of his neck.

The kiss continues for a few moments longer, until Allison coughs unsubtly in front of them. “Yeah, if this is you guys fighting I’d hate to see what it looks like when you make up.”

“That’s the fun part,” Stiles teases, kissing his girlfriend one last time before walking down the steps and climbing into his car. “I’m off to convince Scotty that we’re getting along just as well as we have been for the past three years. And then he can help me come up with some more ideas for you to shoot down.” Placing the key into the ignition, he suddenly rolls the window and leans his head out.

Lydia, seeming to know his plan, starts to smile as she sees him. Placing her hand on Allison’s shoulder, she whispers, “He’s started doing this every time before he leaves. He’s going to ask again.”

With a smile, he calls out, “Lydia, will you marry me?”

Allison can’t help grinning at the two of them, especially at Stiles’s blinding smile.

“You can ask me again when you come home,” Lydia teases him, waving as he backs out of the driveway and gets onto the street. Turning to her best friend, she laughs and tosses her head back. “He’s an idiot,” she says fondly, opening the door and motioning for Allison to follow her inside.

“He’s your idiot,” Allison reminds the redhead, coming inside the house and heading over the refrigerator to grab a pitcher of lemonade and get started on getting their drinks.

From the other counter, where she’s cutting up grapefruits and apples, Lydia bites her lip and nods. “He is.” She runs the knife under the sink and wipes it down before grabbing a plate from a cabinet to put the fruit on. “And one day, maybe, I’ll say yes.”

“Oh?”

Lydia is suspiciously quiet before sighing. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I do want to get married. I’m still not sure, so I’m going to wait until I’m absolutely sure about that. Stiles has been so cool about the fact that I don’t want to get married now, but I don’t know if he’d be quiet as collected if I broke off an engagement.”

Filling the glasses halfway up with ice before adding the lemonade to fill the rest of the way, Allison drinks deeply from her glass as she considers the situation. “He loves you. He’d understand. You never do anything unless you’re sure, and marriage is something you should be sure about.” Almost hesitant, she pauses before asking, “Are you putting it off because you don’t want to get married or because you don’t want to get married to Stiles? I love you guys, but I don’t want you to stay in a relationship that you’re not happy in.”

Walking across the room to the liquor cabinet, Lydia shakes her head with a laugh. “Stiles is the one thing I am sure about. It’s just marriage. I mean, you never knew my parents while they were still together, but let me just say that they were comparably civil to one another after the divorce.”

“Your mom called the cops on your dad when you came back from his house five minutes late.”

“Like I said, that was civil. They hated each other by the end of it, but I remember when I was younger they actually got along. I don’t remember it that well, because it didn’t last for long, but they did seem happy for a while. I don’t want to get married to Stiles and ruin everything.”

“Getting married doesn’t ruin anything unless you let it,” Allison says, offering Lydia the other glass.

Drinking from it, Lydia nods. “Stiles said the same thing. I know you’re right, but I can’t stop thinking about what I grew up with. If we ever did decide to have kids, I don’t want them to go through what I want through.” She places a bottle of vodka on the counter and adds a shot to each of their glasses.

Running her finger along her glass, Allison thinks about it. “It makes sense. But this is you and Stiles that we’re talking about, not your parents. The only arguments that you guys have are about whether or not there’s a proper way to fold a fitted sheet.”

“There is a way and it’s not just balling it up and tossing it in the closet,” Lydia interrupts, exasperated.

“See?” The smirk that Allison’s wearing would fit the Cheshire cat perfectly, but it also looks at home on her own features. “I just think that you should think about the fact that marriage isn’t actually that big of a deal. Plus, you get to buy a really cute dress for the occasion.”  
  
Lydia blushes and laughs, tilting her head in consideration. “You know, I heard that somewhere.”

-x-

Piling their used plates next to the sink, Stiles hums tunelessly as he returns to the dining hall to bring out their glasses and utensils. Lydia turns on the water and puts dish soap on the sponge, trying to tell if Stiles means to be humming a specific song. “Can you put the leftovers away?” she calls out, testing to make sure the water is warm.

“Sure thing,” he responds, stacking the cups next to her and putting the dish of grilled asparagus on the other counter. “This summer we should take a beach trip.”

Wiping the grime off of a plate, she thinks it over. The head over her department is taking a vacation in the middle of June and hates when too many people take off at the same time. “Sometime in July?” That should give her enough time to fill him on what he missed out on while he was away.

Putting a small tub of mashed potatoes into the fridge, Stiles shrugs. “Sounds good with me. We could even see if Scott and Allison have some vacation time then, too. Rent a house by the beach for a while, watch how pitiful Scott gets whenever he inhales salt water and starts shaking like a dog to get it out. I can make so many dog jokes, this is going to be great.”

“You’re lucky that I don’t tell people who plan your jokes ahead of time.” Running the water over a glass to rinse it out, she upturns it over the drying rack and reaches for the nearest dish.

Stiles goes as far as pouting at her for the dig. “I don’t plan all of them. Most of them just happen, but dog jokes are too good to pass up on, especially when Scott gets mad enough that he lets his ears change accidentally.”

Even Lydia can’t deny that Scott only encourages the jokes, especially when he starts to resemble the intended subject. “I’ll throw the idea out to Allison and see what they’ve got going on. You and Scott can try to be manly and grill together. I say try because I remember what happened the last time that you grilled. Chicken shouldn’t be black on the outside and raw on the inside.” She stops washing dishes to pass him the dish towel with a pointed look to the drying rack.

Getting the message, he wipes down the newly cleaned plates. “Okay, yeah, but grills should come with an instruction manual. And Scott can grill, he made steaks the last time we had a pack dinner at Derek’s. Those were really good steaks!” he says, practically drooling at the memory.

“Too rare for my taste,” she notes, cleaning off the counter and the sink with the sponge before turning the sink off.

“Scott’s a werewolf. I think we should honestly just be glad he likes his meant cooked at all.”

She shrugs noncommittally. Allison is the one who handles having a supernatural partner. Stiles has that end of the stick in their relationship, which is perfectly fine with her. Stiles is hard enough to handle while human, Lydia doesn’t even want to think about what he’d be like otherwise, be it werewolf or banshee.

Passing her the towel so she can dry her hands off, Stiles lifts himself onto the counter and kicks his feet against the cabinets, stopping when he sees the glare she sends his way.

“Stiles, I swear, if I have to remind you one more time that I remodeled the kitchen six months ago I’ll rip you apart bit by bit until you’re one of the voices of the dead that I happen to hear. These cabinets are worth more than you are,” she tells him primly, reaching over to pat his knee.

“You say the sweetest things, babe. Really know how to woo a guy.” Still, he gets the message and hops down to merely lean against the counter. “We should get ice cream.”

Now that is a brilliant idea, and she bites her lip and leans toward him with a crooked smile. “Something with chocolate,” she agrees.

“And those animal crackers covered in icing and sprinkles crumbled on top,” Stiles says, resting his chin momentarily on her head.

“There’s a new ice cream place I’ve been wanting to try. Come on, I’m buying. I’ll even make sure they have those dumb animal crackers you love so much. Plus, I hear they have a hot fudge fondue fountain.”

He looks at her in amazement. “Marry me,” he practically moans, grabbing his keys.

The only response she bothers with is a roll of her eyes before she cracks the towel at him.

-x-

She thinks about it.

Okay, well, really, she’s been thinking about it. Ever since he first asked, and really, even before then. Because she knows herself, and she knows Stiles, and she knows that she’s going to be with Stiles until they die or one of them gets sick enough of the other to drive speeding into oncoming traffic. Not that she’s thought about that before, but the point still stands. She’s thought about getting married since he first asked, and she’s still thinking about it.  
  
It makes sense. Hospital privileges, tax benefits, and whatever else marriage is. Those parts make sense, even though she knows realistically that she’s scary enough to intimidate any nurse into telling her Stiles’s condition. Then again, Stiles might not be intimidating enough to get information out of them on her.

That’s not the point.

If she does ever want to have kids, she’d like to be married for a short while before then. She’s 27 now, and she figures mid-thirties is probably the latest she ever wants to have a child, so now makes sense. Get married in a year or so, spend a few years gallivanting around or doing whatever newlyweds do.  
  
Then, maybe, settle down with a kid or two. That works for her biological timeline, and Stiles would love kids.

Actually, she thinks she’d like kids, too. Which surprises most people, because for some reason they believe that she doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body. She has several, thank you very much.

That’s not the point either.

She just doesn’t understand why they need to get married. Not that they need to, or that they even will, but she doesn’t understand it. She even spent a weekend grilling Allison on why marriage was seen as the natural progression of any successful relationship. Neither she nor Stiles are particularly religious, excluding the random hopeful thoughts of Don’t let it be another dead body that she’s had to send up far too often. So she doesn’t believe she’s going to Hell for ‘living in sin’ or whatever the conservatives are calling it.

So aside from the legalities, it doesn’t seem that important. Practically, at least. Her romantic feelings are weird about it, because she wants to want to get married. She wants the big white dress, and she wants Stiles grinning at her down the aisle like the stupid dork that he is, and she wants all of their friends taking photographs she can later display around the house in black and white.

All of those things come with a wedding, though, and she’s practical enough to admit that a wedding does not equal a marriage. Marriage is hard. Her parents are a testament to that, how she can’t talk to her father for longer than fifteen minutes without feeling slimy, how her mother still cried only two years ago when she cleaned out the wardrobe and found a set of ties her ex-husband had left behind. Their wedding was beautiful, and their marriage was not. That’s all there is to it.

That’s not all there is, though, she knows that. Stiles parents prove that much. Granted, most of what she knows about them is from the stories that Stiles and his father tell whenever they’re feeling sentimental. And they probably romanticize Claudia, but they’re allowed to. 

Allison and Scott are married. They’re happy, too, just as happy as they were before, if not happier. Which is almost disgusting because they’re so in love and it’s so sweet that it gives her cavities if she thinks about it for too long.

It gives her a headache. She spends so many hours thinking about it that eventually she makes a pro/con list under the header ‘marriage.’ The first thing that she does is add ‘Stiles’ to the pro column and then she sets down the pen. That’s all she needs.

-x-

“Do you have a proposal playlist?” Lydia asks in disbelief, waving Stiles’s phone around.

Turning away from his Call of Duty game, Stiles made eye contact with her for a brief moment before saying into his microphone, “I’ve got to go. Tell Allison I’m siding with her on the toast and bagel debacle.”

Scott manages to start yelling obscenities before Stiles turns the headset off and leaps over the back of the couch. “You don’t need to look at that, really. It was a joke, something Isaac and I did when he was convincing me not to do one of my stupider ideas. Lydia,” he says, attempting to sound as though he’s giving her a warning.

She’s known him far too long for that to have any affect, so she stares back at him and holds the phone out as though it has personally offended her. 

“The only acceptable song on there is ‘Marry Me’ by Train. Why is Jason Derulo on there? And Bruno Mars? You know I don’t like Bruno Mars.”

“How did I fall in love with the one person who doesn’t like Bruno Mars?” Stiles asks himself quietly, making a grab for the phone that fails spectacularly. 

“Okay, seriously, you’re more upset about Bruno Mars than by Jason Derulo? What kind of with are you?”

“I’m a banshee, not a witch. And Jason Derulo is actually catchy.”

“Have you never heard ‘Uptown Funk’ before??”

“I obviously have, because you sing it in the shower every other morning,” she returns, pausing when she realizes that they’ve gotten off topic. “No, that’s not what this is about. We’re not going to argue about whether or not Bruno Mars is better than Jason Derulo.”

“Of course we’re not, because I would destroy you in that,” he interrupts, gaping openly at her taste in musicians.

Shooting him a look, she proceeds to scroll down the playlist before suddenly coming to a stop. “You put ‘Single Ladies’ on this. What the hell does ‘Single Ladies’ have to do with getting married?”

Running a hand across his forehead warily, Stiles starts to sing, “If you like it than you should’a put a ring on it!” He even does the accompanying dance move with the lyrics, wiggling his ring finger pointedly. “I’m trying to put a ring on it, here! Besides, how can anyone ever object to Beyoncé?”

“I’m not objecting to Beyoncé, I’m objecting to ‘Single Ladies’ on a proposal playlist.”

“You’re objecting to the Queen, and you don’t like Bruno Mars. Why am I even attracted to you?” he says, bemoaning the fact that he’ll never have a girlfriend who has good taste in music. 

“I never object to Queen, they’re perfect. Also, you probably because of my great ass.”

Gaze drifting to the aforementioned area, Stiles nods. “It’s not your ass’s fault that you like shit music, Queen aside.” 

If she rolls her eyes one more time she’s fairly sure that they’re going to roll out of her head, so Lydia just glances at the ceiling and decides she’ll look back at Stiles once she feels more sure that she’s not going to kill him. 

“Lydia?” he asks, and she looks over to find that he’s gotten down on one knee and is staring at her expectantly.

With horror, she realizes that he wants for to start the playlist. This is the man that she’s going to marry. You know, maybe. Eventually. She grudgingly scrolls through until she finds ‘Marry Me’ by Train again, and then scowls at him as she presses play.

He mouths ‘thank you’ at her before coughing. “Lydia, will you marry me?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not with this playlist.”

-x-

“I’m wearing her down,” Stiles announces as he busts through the door to Scott’s and Allison’s house.

“Finally,” Isaac comments from the kitchen, where he’s standing with Allison and is helping to stir something. 

Scott pokes his head out of the kitchen and grins at his friend. “That’s great, man,” he says honestly, turning back into the room before tossing a beer towards Stiles.

Somehow managing to catch it, Stiles also grabs the church key that follows, popping the top off his drink as he walks into the kitchen to join them and taking care to make sure that the top makes it into the trashcan. “She’s stopped saying no, and she’s started saying ‘ask me later’ or ‘not with this playlist’ and stuff.”

“’Not with this playlist’?” Allison repeats, staring at him with more than a little disbelief.

“Scott only had to propose to you once, I’ve had to start taking desperate measures,” Stiles defends himself, peering into the bowl she’s holding to identify its contents.

“I had it easy,” Scott agrees, taking out a beer for himself.

Allison smirks at him in a way that somehow looks devious and innocent, and Stiles understands that when Scott and Allison have children, those children will be indomitable. With Scott’s puppy dog brown eyes and Allison’s patented looks that are split between Disney villain and princess, nothing will be able to stop them. And the werewolf characteristics. Those are important, too.

Isaac, because he is a little shit that loves creating conflict, has the nerve to say, “So you’re saying Allison was easy?”

Several things happen at once. Stiles chokes on his beer because he’s laughing so hard, Allison has to put her mixing bowl on the counter because her knees are shaking from the laughter that follows, and Scott freezes up so badly that he actually drops his beer. The glass shatters on the tile floor, and Scott is left staring at his wife helplessly.

“That wasn’t – no, I just. I didn’t mean,” he manages to get out before resulting to puppy dog eyes.

Stiles sighs when he sees the look, because if puppy dog eyes can melt his heart coming from a grown man, he doesn’t even want to think about how he’ll never be able to tell a child no.

After making sure that she won’t be stepping on any glass, Allison walks over and pecks her husband on the cheek adorably. “I know,” she reassures him. They’re going to give Stiles cavities.

While Isaac and Scott start to clean up the mess, Stiles stands over with Allison and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you said to her, thank you. She’s been more relaxed ever since you guys talked.”

Allison smiles at him before looking over to Scott, her eyes going a little soft. “If she has been, it’s because she’s making her own mind up. Don’t think that Lydia would let anyone affect her in a decision like this.”

“Okay, now I understand why Scott thinks you’re perfect. It’s because you are.” Shaking his head, Stiles leans against the counter and says to his friend, 

“Heads up, I’ve decided to marry Allison because she’s the nicest human being in the history of ever. And I’m including Mother Teresa in there, because she never made me a birthday cake.”

“She’s already married; I’m afraid I got there first.”

“Weren’t you just talking about wearing Lydia down?” Isaac pipes up, emptying a dust pan filled with broken glass into the trashcan.

“I don’t think I’ll marry you, Stiles. Sorry,” Allison says, sounding almost apologetic. The smile that Scott sends her is like a beam of sunshine, too bright to be anything else, and Stiles wearily reflects that he either needs to invest in sunscreen or stop giving Scott and Allison reasons to be sappy around each other.

Waving away their excuses, Stiles points at Isaac. “I was just talking about wearing Lydia down. Lately, I’ve been fairly relaxed about the proposals, but now that I think I have a shot of her actually agreeing to marry me, I have to step up my game. I’m thinking champagne and strawberries, big music playing… I’m going to go through with the initial plan.”

Isaac looks over in interest, and Scott’s smile, if possible, gets even bigger.

“The initial plan?” Isaac asks, unfamiliar with how the proposals started off.

Stiles claps his hands together and nods. “We’re going to her favorite restaurant next Friday for her birthday. I need to call the string quartet guy again, and maybe he can learn that Train song she likes.”

“Do something classical,” Allison says, opening a cabinet to pull down a bottle of vanilla extract from the shelves. “Anything other than classical would come across as weird. Ave Maria, or Claire de Lune.”

Thinking it over, Stiles wraps both Scott and Allison in a hug before waving Isaac over as well. “I’m going to get married to Lydia Martin,” he cheers.

“She still has to say yes,” Isaac reminds him.

-x-

“Which earrings?” Lydia demands, turning to him and holding up to pairs of earrings that are different in some unidentifiable way. They have to be, she wouldn’t try to trick him like this.

Stiles squints at the pair on the left and then moves to look at the pair on the right. Silver, sparkly, check, check. The left ones are a pair of drop earrings in teardrop shape, and the right ones are… The same. Wait. No, the right ones have a small diamond at the top. “The right,” he guesses, trying to sound as though he actually understands that her earrings hold the fate of the dinner in their, er, earpieces? Earrings don’t have hands.

She nods approvingly at him, putting the diamond-less pair back into her jewelry stand. “You know that we don’t have to go out for my birthday.”

If he were in The Office, he would pull a Jim and just stare at the camera, clearly unimpressed. Lydia didn’t even make an attempt to have that sound even partially believable. She loves birthdays, she helps do extravagant things for all their friends whenever they become another year older. She also loves when her friends get together and try to plan extravagant things for her birthdays. At least, the flushed, semi-impressed look she gave him when he told her to put on her favorite dress and get ready for a celebration told him as much, and Stiles isn’t stupid enough to think he can back out now.

Not that he wants to back out, because he’s practically thrumming with excitement. Lydia has been dropping hints that she’s been expecting another proposal, which he thinks is pretty much proof that she’s going to say yes the next time he asks. So the next time is going to be perfect. Not that the other times weren’t perfect, because they would have been. But this time, he’s actually gone and arranged that instead of having the ring brought out with dessert, they’re going to eat dessert and then sit and talk at their table. And when Stiles will finally ‘give in’ to his hunger and order a crème brûlée, which will be brought out with the ring.

She’ll never see it coming, especially since it’ll be with second dessert.

“We celebrated our anniversary by playing Mario and getting pizza delivered. I’m enough of a realist to know that can’t be expected to happen for two big occasions in a row. So pull on your tallest heels and we’ll start a night on the town.” If only he could get his stupid tie to cooperate, they could leave.

Choosing her heels with care, Lydia pulls on a pair of strappy black heels that put her at the perfect height to be kissed. Stiles pauses, tie taken care of, and swallows as he drinks her in. In the green cocktail dress she’s put on for the occasion, her hair pulled back in a dramatic sweep onto the top of her head, she is the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. And he’s going to marry her. His throat goes dry at the very thought.

“Are you ready?” she asks, titling her head at him as he comes out of his reverie and nods at her.

Grabbing his wallet from the dresser, he makes sure he has the car keys in his pocket before leading them into the front room, where she picks up her purse. As she pauses to look for something, a fiery lock of hair comes undone from the loose bun she’d organized. It rests gently against the base of her pale neck, curling loosely. 

Staring at her in near wonder, Stiles swallows and reflects on the fact that this is the woman he’s going to spend the rest of his life with. He is the luckiest man alive, and he’s going to spend every moment he can making sure that she knows that he knows it. Reaching out and brushing the piece of hair back up into its position, he curls a hand around her waist and draws himself around her. “I love you,” he whispers.

Lydia looks up from her purse and takes in the honest expression he’s wearing around her so comfortably. “As I love you,” she responds simply, tilting her head towards him to meet his lips.

It’s not something they exchange often, however much they know how true it is. Usually, ‘I love you’ is a declaration that occurs when Lydia orders pizza for dinner or Stiles picks her up extra chapstick when he goes to the grocery store. Because they do love each other, and they do tell each other, and they both know that the other loves them. It’s just that they so rarely have moments as open and honest as this one, that they want to enjoy it for just a little longer.

“We’re going to miss our reservation,” Stiles mumbles against her a few minutes later, finally pulling away.

She runs her hands under his collar and nips at his lips again. “What if I’ve thought of something better to do than dinner?”

Shrugging, he pulls her a little closer and grins. “If you’re willing to miss out on the freshly baked baguettes they put out before the main course, then, sure, let’s skip dinner.” He leans in for another kiss to find that she’s staring at him with a self-satisfied grin.

“I knew it,” she crows, reaching up to his face to wipe away a smudge of her lipstick. “I knew we were going to Violett’s. That’s where you made the reservation, right?”

Opening the front door and waiting for her to exit before locking up behind them he says, “Yeah, McDonald’s has reservations, right? I called and tried to ask, but they kept yelling at me. I figured we’d just hope they knew what it meant.”

“Very fancy. They did, after all, just bring the McRib back.”

“See? I know how to be romantic.”

They get into the car, and Lydia pretends to be surprised when they pull up to Violett’s. Stiles passes the keys to the valet and comes around to her side, making a show out of opening her door. “You thought I was going to take you to McDonald’s,” he teases her as they’re lead to their table on the outdoor patio.

With her arm through his, she smiles congenially at the waiter and whispers, “If I thought you were going to take me to McDonald’s I would have a pitched a fit that would have made you into a fond memory and nothing more. And your dad likes me, so he wouldn’t come after me for your murder.”

“My dad likes me, too, thanks. I’m his flesh and blood, not to mention the reason that his cholesterol stayed under control all throughout high school. He’d avenge me.”

Lydia looks smug, but she has the good grace to shrug and not act like she knows she’d get away with it if she wanted to. Even when Stiles pulls her chair out for her, she keeps her grin steady and her eyes on him as she sits down. “Good thing you have the presence of mind to preemptively avoid my wrath.”

Taking his own seat, he nods gravely. “After all those stupid situations in high school, I’d say that I have a pretty strong will to survive.”

Lydia orders the wine, because Stiles knows fuck all on the subject (it was a trivia topic once and he had royally messed his team up). When the waiter comes back with the bottle and their glasses, he notes that Lydia inspects the bottom of her glass before drinking. 

They make their orders and talk all through the meal. Stiles is grateful that he asked for an outdoor table, because there’s more space in the outdoor seating area. Maybe it just feels that way, but he’s still glad that they have the space to be themselves and feel like they’re not intruding on anyone else’s evening. Not that that’s stopped them before.

Lydia entertains him with stories from the lab, revealing that the department head has scheduled his retirement for the end of the year. With anticipation, Stiles waits for her to say what she’s decided, even though he’s fairly sure that he already knows.

“I’m going to replace him,” she finally confesses, tilting her wine glass as she nods to herself.

Reaching for his own wine glass, he raises it to her in a toast. “Head of your department before you’re thirty. You truly are a creature of wonder. I’m so proud of you, Lydia. You’re absolutely amazing.”

With a deliberate look at him, she pauses before lifting her glass as well. She drinks deeply and twines her fingers together on top of the tablecloth. “Our future will be busy.” She even goes so far as to give him a pointed look.

Oh, God. She’s waiting for the proposal. That’s why she looked at the bottom of her wine glass, that’s why she paused before toasting, that’s why she brought up the future, that’s why she’s looking at him as though she’s confused as to why he’s not on one knee before her. Stiles cannot believe his luck. She’s going to say yes, and they’re going to get married, and maybe down the line they’ll even have a kid or two to tote around with them. He's getting ahead of himself, she still has to say yes. Fourteenth time is the charm, though.

Oh my God. Is that how many times he's proposed? _Fourteen_? That's ridiculous. He counts in his head, including the random times he'd brought it up again and she probably hadn't even taken him seriously. Yeah, it's at least fourteen. That's the number he's going to stick with.

He laughs it off, bringing up how they should probably go to Beacon Hills for a weekend soon. He knows Lydia’s mom misses her, and his dad misses them too, even if he tries to act like he’s keeping busy.

Dinner continues as usual, and Lydia stares at her dessert in astonishment when it’s brought out to her. Almost as though she was expecting a diamond to be residing somewhere on the plate. She glances up at him with a slightly worried look before shaking it off, going back to the food without bring it up.

After her dessert has been cleared, they sit and talk for a bit longer. Until Stiles pauses guiltily and asks if she’d mind if they stayed just a little bit longer. 

“I thought that I wasn’t hungry before, but seeing yours looked too good. Want to split a crème brûlée?” he asks, leaning over the table and speaking secretively.

Like it’s a conspiracy, Lydia grins and leans in to answer. “I’d love that.”

Waving the waiter over, he places the order and exchanges a significant look with the man. If the restaurant doesn’t bring the ring out, he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do. Probably stammer and go ahead and ask her, but then he’ll have to go and find what they did with the ring.

Chattering about the latest paper she’s been reading and how it could potentially impact her field, Lydia barely even seems to notice when the dessert is brought out. Which means that she’s not expecting it, which means that now is the perfect time. Stiles couldn’t be more pleased with himself if he’d actually go through with the skydiving plan, or one of Scott’s ideas that genuinely had them riding off into the sunset.

“I know it’s a long way off, but if we could implement this in ten years, the simulations would be so much more accurate. If the aftershocks could be better predicted, safety requirements for cities off fault lines would need to be cracked down on. Just last week, I was looking over a simulation that crumbled an entire city. Granted, it’s an unlikely location and I set up the tremors to be heavier than expected in the worst of situations, but it could happen. I think I may start lobbying bills through, after I talk with the fire marshal.” Seeing Stiles looking at her, she self-consciously reached up and touched an earring before dabbing at her mouth with the napkin. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Swallowing, he just shakes his head. “No, no. You’re perfect.” With some trepidation, he turns the plate to where she can see the ring glinting at her in the lighting. Right on cue, the string quartet launches into Pachelbel’s Cannon. Finally, everything is going right.

Collecting the ring into his hands and approaching her before getting down on one knee, Stiles ignores the excited glances of other patrons. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the only person that matters. “Lydia, will you,” he begins, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“Yes,” she blurts, both hands raised to cover her chin.

His heart nearly skips a beat. “Can I finish? What if I was going to ask you to clean the master bath when we get home?”  
  
She narrows her eyes at him, expression shifting from excited to disbelieving in a matter of moments. “I cleaned that yesterday when I got home from work. So don’t ask me to clean the master bath.” Her eyes flicker wickedly at him, clearly amused by his ridiculous antics. As though she expected any less.

With a sigh, he raises the ring a little higher to her. “I am in love with you. And I’ve told you before, so that shouldn’t surprise you. It surprises me, though. I am always surprised at how in love with you I am, and I can’t believe that you keep surprising me. Will you marry me?” he asks, looking up at her in confusion when she still hasn’t answered.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she nods rapidly. “Yes,” she says finally, slowly, deliberately.

-x-

They hold a pack dinner to announce it to everyone. And while of course Allison and Scott are told immediately, Lydia thinks it will be best to have everyone over and tell it to the group. Stiles likes getting everyone together, be it for barbeque or stupid games.

Isaac and Kira notice the ring as soon as Lydia answers the door, they’re polite enough to not mention it, just mime excitement that Lydia smugly accepts as she waves everyone in. “Beer’s in the fridge, help yourself,” she instructs them as she turns to point Malia in the way of the liquor.

When everyone has their drink of choice and they have all taken seats in the living room, Stiles grins at Lydia, waiting for her nod before he starts. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today.”

“Boo,” Danny yells, copied by Cora and Malia.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia decides that she’s going to break the news. “Stiles kept asking me to marry him, and I finally said yes.” She holds her left hand out in triumph and grins.

The pack launches into near chaos. Stiles is being assaulted with questions about how the final proposal went down, and just how long ago it was. They need to know the results for the betting pool, and it ends up being that Isaac has won a ton of money if the smirk he’s wearing is anything to go by.

“Are you feeling okay? You’re sure this is what you want? No witchcraft or spells or magical coercion?” Cora asks Lydia hesitantly, only a little serious. Stiles remembers seeing her bet that Lydia wouldn’t agree for another five months or so.

Lydia waves her off with a roll of her eyes. “I’m fine. We’re both fine, and we’re happy. And I know about the betting pool by the way.”

The guilty looks that everyone exchanges would only be more amusing if Allison was standing in the back trying to look innocent, Stiles thinks. Isaac leans back on the couch, and there she is, glass raised to her lips with a secretive smile as she tries to avoid looking over to Lydia. Against all of the wolves in the pack, Stiles will always be happy to go up against them with Lydia and Allison. No one else is nearly as terrifying as they are, even when Scott does drop his fangs and let his alpha eyes shine. 

Everyone calms down after a few minutes, grumbling complaints about how if they’d only waited another week or something about adopting a puppy with a collar that would spell out the marriage proposal. That’s a genius idea, actually, and Stiles is willing to put down money that Scott came up with that.

Derek stands, his beer raised. “I would like to propose–”

“Stiles did enough of that for all of us,” Lydia provides helpfully, putting her hand in Stiles’s as she says so.

After rolling his eyes at them and waiting for the laughter to die down, Derek goes on, “I would like to propose a toast. To Stiles and Lydia, and to the life they’re going to start together. If you guys can get yourselves together, I’m sure there’s hope for the rest of us.”

Stiles makes an indignant squawking sound that Lydia hopes she’ll never hear again, and Lydia leans her head back and laughs. She squeezes Stiles’s hand and shares a smile with him before they raise their glasses along with everyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> helpless-in-sleep on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
